


in search of your glory

by girlmarauders



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M, Trope Inversion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2019-03-29 14:39:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13929165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlmarauders/pseuds/girlmarauders
Summary: 16. Mikey/Patrick Mikey is an Omega and Patrick is an Alpha, but they act the opposite





	in search of your glory

Patrick wished people would stop acting like he knew what he was doing. Obviously it hadn’t been the only reason he’d joined a band that already had its own alpha, but it had been a nice perk, that people took one look at them (at Pete) and stopped asking Patrick all the frustrating questions that came with being an alpha. He could barely figure out how to get dressed in the morning, let alone all the exhausting ordering people around and making plans and having his life together that alphas were supposed to do. Not that Pete had his life together, but at least he had a plan. It wasn’t a good plan, and it usually involved an excessive amount of costuming, but it was a plan. 

Back in the day, when he had been a lot more nervous about, well, essentially everything except potentially playing guitar, he had avoided dressing like an alpha on purpose. Pete had also done that, and Joe and Andy hadn’t minded, since neither of them were particularly attached to the idea of finding an alpha to keep them, or an omega for them to keep. His mom had said “oh sweetie” on the phone a few times but she’d gotten over it eventually, and then the pressure had decreased a little. It turned out when you refused to dress like an alpha, and took heat suppressants, and stood close enough to Pete that everyone was paying attention to him, eventually everyone forgot you were one. 

It was a good routine to settle into, and it kept some of the anxiety at bay. He only fucked other alphas, because the kind of alphas who wanted to fuck another alpha didn’t expect him to tell them what to do, or to have grand 12 point plans for fucking. He had some bad experiences, but now, older, he realised that everyone had those. It wasn’t because he was reluctant alpha that those bad things had happened. It was strange, sometimes, to realise that you had learned something, and the terrible things you thought you had deserved were just part of your life, and a mistake, but no longer cruel memories. It was peaceful. 

That was, until Mikey complicated everything. 

Him and Pete were in Patrick’s living room, both of them high as skunks, Pete with one of Patrick’s cheaper bass guitars in his lap, strumming and then laughing. Mikey laughed along, but Patrick could tell something was distracting him. It was probably the way the futon felt, or why toes were weird, or how the death star flew, or any of the number of other things Way’s brain came up with when he was high. Patrick had seen both of them like this before more times than he could count. Pete had come over to watch cartoons and talk about songs, and he’d brought Mikey with him, and the end of jamming sessions almost always ended up with someone getting high. Patrick had held off so he could prevent Pete from vomiting anywhere inconvenient, and to watch the both of them until Meagan could come and collect them. 

Patrick plucked out a few lines on his guitar, watching Pete bop his head along to it and smile. 

“That sounds really good,” Pete said, and then screwed up his mouth so he could run his teeth over his lips. 

“You think anything sounds good right now,” Patrick said. Mikey, sitting on the floor, thumped his head back against the futon and looked at Patrick with his big eyes. 

“You know what sounds good right now?” he asked. “A sandwich. A really big sandwich.” 

Pete made a pleased sort of sound. 

“Mikey Way, you always were the genius of the family,” Pete said. “Sandwiches. Brilliant. Sheer brilliance” He turned to look at Patrick, and he sighed. He knew what was coming. “Patrick, can you pleaseeeee make me a sandwich?”

“Absolutely not,” Patrick said, keeping his guitar in his lap in what he hoped was a way that indicated he wasn’t getting up. “I am not your sandwich slave.”

Pete strummed the bass. 

“Sandwich slave! Oh sandwich slave!” he sang, badly, and Patrick rolled his eyes. Mikey, slowly, and with the appearance that his limbs were too long and complicated for him to control, struggled to his feet and blinked at Patrick owlishly before heading to the kitchen. Patrick made a quick, and heavily practiced decision about who was the most important to monitor at that exact second, and pushed his guitar onto the couch, following Mikey quickly. Pete was still singing his nonsense song about sandwiches slaves and cackling, which would hopefully entertain him for a while. 

Mikey was opening drawers seemingly at random, but had already found the plates, so Patrick leaned back on the kitchen table to watch the sandwich making happen. 

“Stop that,” Mikey said, looking at him, pushing some of his hair out of his eyes. Patrick squinted at him. 

“Stop what?” he asked. 

“You know what you’re doing,” Mikey said calmly, taking food out of the fridge. 

“Watching you?” Patrick asked. Mikey nodded seriously, and started adding meats to bread seemingly at random. 

“And looking really pretty,” he said. “It’s distracting.”

Patrick swallowed. Mikey had said it casually, as if it was just something he’d been thinking about, but it still made Patrick feel seen. Looked at. His skin prickled with the very earliest, faintest feeling of arousal.

“Sorry,” Mikey said, when he looked up. He was holding two plates piled with open sandwiches, and had mustard tucked under his arm. “You shouldn’t listen to me.” 

“There’s no way you’re going to eat all that,” Patrick said, instead of dealing with any of his other thoughts. Mikey smiled again, and jerked his head to push his hair out of his face again. He didn’t dress like an omega, and he’d never acted like one in all the years they’d known each other, but he couldn’t disguise his big eyes and sharp cheekbones, the face that looked pretty more than anything else. 

Mikey ignored him, and Patrick tried not to think about it while he watched him and Pete eat their way through the piles of food. Later, Mikey, lying with his legs in the air on Patrick’s futon, called Lindsey to come pick him up, because Pete had fallen asleep. Patrick hugged him goodbye by the front door, catching only a second of how good he smelled, before he pulled his head back and waved to Lindsey in the car. Pete was dozing sideways on the sofa, one of his arms hanging down to touch the floor, and Patrick carefully slid in next to him, tucking his face against Pete’s back and smelling his comforting alpha scent. Patrick’s been single for a while now, and it’s hard to have someone say things about him, about his body or his face, without reacting. He’s always hated the way omegas, and sometimes betas, would hit on him, saying things about how big his hands were, or acting like he was taller than them. He’s never wanted that, and Mikey is a good friend, a friend he doesn’t want to lose to attraction that won’t work for either of them. He didn’t want Mikey to hunch his shoulders and say the things omegas say to alphas that make his skin crawl. Then he remembered how Mikey called him pretty, not handsome, and has to turn that thought over in his mind for a few moments. 

“Hmm,” Pete said, turning over and pushing his nose up against Patricks collar. He’s reminded how lucky he is, to have an alpha friend who loves him and supports him, and how important it is to dispel myths about alphas always fighting each other for omega attention. “I’m awake now,” Pete said groggily. “What’d I miss?”

Patrick ruffled his hair with one free hand.

“Mikey went home.” he said. “He got tired of waiting for you to wake up.” 

Pete shimmied and sat up, rubbing his eyes. 

“That sucks. He’s got the hots for you.” he said. Patrick frowned, and caught his hands doing a nervous twisty thing. 

“I don’t date omegas.” he said. Mikey had called him pretty. Even the alphas he’s slept with before (calling it dating would be dishonest) had stayed away from saying anything that would have identified either of their statuses. None of them had ever called him pretty, even when they’d held him down. 

“He doesn’t usually date alphas, but he’s had a crush on you for ages. You were both just always seeing other people.” Pete said.   
Patrick grabbed both his elbows, to have something to do with his hands, and then let them go, aware it made him look nervous and hunched. 

“You never said anything.” he said. Pete looked more awake now. 

“It never came up, and Mikey hadn’t mentioned it since..” Pete made a vague hand gesture that Patrick took to mean ‘when Mikey and I were fucking and not talking about it’. 

“He’s mentioned it recently?” Patrick asked. 

“Yeah, yesterday.” They’d had casual band practice yesterday, when they went to Pete’s home studio and recorded whatever they came up. Mikey had been there, sitting on the floor of the studio playing games on his phone, and making comments when asked. It was normal to not see Mikey for months, and then suddenly every day for weeks at a time. Pete and him had the kind of friendship that weathered long periods of absence easily. He looked good this time around, tanned, with a new haircut and bleached hair. 

“Well,” Patrick says, not sure how to react. Mikey is good-looking, and certainly physically his type, long-limbed and taller than him, but it has never occurred to him to think about it, the part of his brain that divided the world up having clearly set Mikey aside as an omega he could not think about without the sense of wrongness that had always accompanied the unspoken rules of alpha-hood. Pete clearly recognised his expression, and opened his arms, gesturing inward. 

“Hey, come here,” he said, and Patrick folded forward into the half-hug, half-cuddle. This was the part he had always liked about sleeping with alphas, the cuddling afterwards and the present, comforting physicality, the musky smell of an alpha’s arms around him. Spencer had been good for that, and they had both liked their time spent fucking around together, the attraction slowly fading to a friendship Patrick treasured. “I didn’t mean to make you sad.” Pete said quietly, into the top of Patrick’s head. “I know you don’t like talking about this kind of thing.”

Patrick shook his head. 

“It’s okay,” he said, and it sort of was. “That’s nice of Mikey, but...maybe not my kind of thing.” 

Pete kissed his hair. 

“I get that, but think about it okay? He isn’t really that kind of omega.” 

Patrick shifted to open Pete’s arms and look up at him, to see his face. Pete didn’t talk about his aborted relationship with Mikey, and he didn’t talk about how they had been obsessed with each other, and also terrible for each other. There had been some kind of fight, and then Pete had made one of his rare and opaque final decisions and that had been it. Mikey and Pete, best friends till the end, not boyfriends anymore. Pete smiled weakly and, in a mirror of Patrick earlier, reached over and ruffled his hair. 

“Don’t look at me like that Stump,” he said. “I know what I’m talking about.”

Patrick wanted to ask more questions but Pete used the pause to turn on the tv. They watched cartoons for an hour, cuddled in a too-warm pile on the sofa, before Meagan arrived, with Bronx a sticky shouty mess in the car-seat, and there wasn’t a good moment to ask. Patrick let it go. 

&&&

Pete and Mikey were in one of the intense periods of their friendship, and every time Patrick went over to Pete’s, Mikey was there. It was distracting, and even worse was thinking about how it was distracting, which gave Patrick a headache. He was thirty year old, and had gotten through most of those years by determinedly not thinking about things that made him uncomfortable. He hadn’t expected it to approach so suddenly from such an unanticipated direction.

“Did I do something?” Mikey asked him one day, when they were alone in Pete’s small studio, Patrick with only one headphone on, Mikey on the squashy old sofa Pete kept there. 

“What?” he asked. He hadn’t been listening, had barely even registered Pete leaving the room. He was dead to the world in the studio, and he’d forgotten that outside of the band and a few others, not many people remembered that. 

Mikey picked at his sleeve, the long hair on the top of his head falling to the side, the ends of it just touching the shaved sides of his head. 

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he said. Patrick bit his lip, and decided against lying. 

“Yeah,” he said gently, trying to sound apologetic. “Sorry.”

“What did I do?” Mikey asked. Patrick took of the headphones, and tucked them around his neck. He itched to push Mikey’s hair back into place. 

“It wasn’t really you. Pete said you...had a thing for me.” Patrick twirled an indeterminate shape in the hair with his hand, and then pulled it back. 

Mikey frowned, and it pulled his face tightly around his mouth, in between his eyebrows. 

“I shouldn’t have told Pete that,” he said. Patrick rolled his chair more around so they were looking directly at each other. 

“No, no, it’s okay,” he said. He didn’t want Mikey to worry about his wierdness. It wasn’t his problem. “It just, threw me for a loop I guess.”  
“Which is why I shouldn’t have told Pete,” he said. “I knew you didn’t, well, ‘do’ omegas” he said, doing air quotes, with a wry smiled. The double entendre was weak, but Patrick snorted anyway, and Mikey smiled more widely. 

“Yeah,” Patrick said, feeling a bit less bad about it. “Thanks.”

Mikey settled back on the sofa, his hands resting easily on his thighs. 

“Can I ask why?” he asked. 

“Why what?” Patrick said, aware of his unstyled hair and his ratty studio clothes, and Mikey’s long legs, the size of his hands on his thighs. 

“Why not omegas,” Mikey said. Patrick flushed, because it was a personal question, but in a way he felt pleased that Mikey had asked. It felt nice, for someone to not make an assumption for once, and to actually ask why. 

“I...When you’re an alpha, sleeping with an omega, it means something,” Patrick said haltingly. “There’s...expectations. And I’m not very good at being an alpha.”

Mikey smiled crookedly, like he was entertained by the thought.

“I get you. I’m not very good at being an omega,” he said, standing up. Patrick always forgot how tall he was when he was sitting down, and as he unfolded upwards, Patrick had to look up to meet his eyes. He’d always liked alphas that were taller than him, and it felt different to feel that about an omega, although not in a bad way. “Sorry,” Mikey said, turning to go. 

“Wait,” Patrick said, not thinking about it, little panic bells going off in the back of his head when he realised he didn’t know what to say next. The words were going straight from his brain to his mouth without any cognition occuring in between, so he was as surprised as Mikey to hear what he said next. “Did you mean it? When you said I was pretty?”

Mikey’s entire expression changed suddenly, from guarded and unsure to an open attraction that surprised Patrick and made his skin prickle with awareness. He hadn’t realised that Mikey had been holding back, and it was electric to suddenly realise that Mikey wanted him. It had been one thing to hear it from Pete, and entirely another to see it so clearly on Mikey’s face. 

Mikey nodded slowly. 

“Yeah. I meant it.” he said, and there was a long pause. “Did you like hearing it?”

Slowly, Patrick stood up. There were only a few steps between them, and Patrick desperately wanted there to be less, but something held him back, waiting for Mikey. He tipped up his chin. 

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I liked it.”

Mikey stepped forward and took Patrick’s chin in his hand, in a single confident movement. For a tiny second, Patrick was looking up at him, with the firm pressure of his fingertips on his jaw, and then Mikey leaned forward and they were kissing, Patrick still being held in place. The kiss was certain and good, sending warmth through his body, making him shiver in a good way when Mikey bit his lip gently.

It wasn't clear how long they kissed for, but Patrick had slid a hand up Mikey’s thin chest under his shirt, and Mikey’s hand was on Patrick's hip, holding their hips together. 

Patrick sucked in a long breath when they pulled apart, and Mikey raised an eyebrow at him. It was so out of place after that kiss that it made Patrick snort, and both of them smile. 

“Want to come back to mine?” Patrick asked, and felt gratified when Mikey’s smile turned 1000-watt.

They could hardly get out of Pete’s house without him noticing, but Bronx playing aeroplane by running around the house at full speed, and Pete only had time to wolf-whistle at them before him and Meagan had to tackle Bronx to prevent a more serious collision. As they got in Patrick’s car, Mikey rested his hand on the back of the driver’s seat, and Patrick coukd occasionally feel it against the hair at the back of his neck as a soft reminder of why they were driving back to Patrick’s in the middle of the day. Mikey didn't speak, just plugged his phone into the aux and leaned back, his eyes closed, letting the music shuffle through. Patrick kept his eyes on the road, and tried to hold himself to looking over at him only at stop signs and red lights. 

They barely made it through the front door before Mikey grabbed his shoulders and pushed him back into the wall. It was gentle but it still pushed all the air out of Patrick’s lungs. 

“You wanna do this?” Mikey asked, in his soft voice, and Patrick nodded before the question was even over. Visibly, Miley held himself back from leaning in for a kiss, and took a deep breath. He pushed gently on Patrick’s shoulders, a reminder that he was taller and had the advantage. “Do you wanna do this my way?” Mikey said. 

For a second, Patrick thought about it. He had an idea of what Mikey’s way entailed, the strong push of Mikey’s hands on his shoulders a signal he couldn't ignore. He squared his jaw and looked up, meeting Mikey's gaze.

“Yeah,” he said. “C’mon.”

He had expected something to happen immediately, for Mikey to suddenly take charge, but instead he just leaned in and kissed him, forcibly but tamely. They made out for what seemed like an age, until both of them were half-moaning with each breath and their hips with moving against each other. It was an intoxicating kind of arousal, with Mikey's arms bracketing the sides of his head, his shoulders firm against the wall, and it felt easy and relaxed, because he knew he was waiting for Mikey to act. It was hot, to let himself be kissed. 

“Fuck, c’mon,” Mikey said, giving his shoulders a little tug, walking the two of them over to the futon, until Patrick’s calves hit the frame and he sat down. For a second, Mikey was standing over him, clearly hard in his jeans. Patrick licked his lips, his mouth watering. Mikey grinned, and put his hands on his belt. “Yeah?” he said, his voice rasping. 

He nodded, and leaned forward, as Mikey pushed his jeans down just far enough to pull his dick out, holding it just beyond Patrick’s lips. He stroked it once before Patrick finally had enough of waiting and pulled himself forward on the futon, his legs between Mikey’s, and sucked the tip into his mouth. He usually loved sucking dick, and this was no different, especially when he heard Mikey above him make a sudden, sharp sound, and felt his hand at the side of his head, holding on. He was almost painfully hard, but it felt right to ignore it while Mikey thrust gently into his mouth, gasping loudly when Patrick sucked harder. His blood was pounding in his ears, and he could hear Mikey talking but the words were unimportant. He got his hands on Mikey’s ass and held on, until his nose pressed against the edge of his pubic hair. Above him, he felt Mikey twitch, and then was overwhelmed with the sharp taste of his orgasm, swallowing quickly to save himself from choking. He wanted to grin, but it would have been too much teeth, so he hollowed out his cheeks to suck until Mikey pushed him away, oversensitive. 

“Oh fuck,” he said, as Patrick ran a hand over his mouth. “You’re amazing, let me-” 

Mikey put his knees on either side of Patrick’s legs and used both hands to quickly open his jeans and push them down. Patrick’s mouth still felt astringent and strange, but Mikey kissed him anyway, covering up the sound he made when Mikey wrapped his hand around Patrick’s dick. Their kiss broke when Patrick moaned, as Mikey stroked him tightly, catching the wetness of his pre-cum to ease the friction.

“You gonna show me your pretty knot?” Mikey asked, his hand moving tightly around Patrick’s dick. He gasped loudly, each breath feeling more difficult than the last, like all the air had gone out of the room. He’d never done that before, always pulling back from the edge that would bring up his knot when he was sleeping with others. He’d had partners do it before, but he’d always held back. It always felt like too much of a reminder of the fact he was an alpha who didn’t want to be one, and he had worried the people he had sex with would feel strange. Mikey didn’t seem to care, and he used a second hand to grip tightly at the base of Patrick’s dick, where the knot would come in, and he nearly brained both of them when he curled forward, Mikey narrowly managing to pull his head back to avoid a collision. 

“Fuck, fuck,” he chanted quietly, as Mikey stroked him hard, both of his hands gripping on a counterpoint pattern that sent waves of pleasure through his body. 

“Yeah, c’mon,” Mikey said, his voice low and intense. “You’re so pretty, you’ll look so good with a knot.” 

Patrick felt his orgasm like suddenly running into a brick wall. Somewhere, outside his body, he was aware of coming all over Mikey’s hands and his jeans, but all he could do was tuck his face into the crease of Mikey’s neck and breathe through the shakes of the intense orgasm. The skin at the base of his dick was red and swollen, but his knot hadn’t come all the way through, which was frankly lucky, since it would have been embarrassing to need Mikey to keep a grip for longer. 

Eventually, he turned and kissed the side of Mikey’s neck, falling back against the futon. Mikey looked up at him and shook his hand in a meaningful way, making a face at the come on his hand. Patrick laughed, and Mikey kissed him on the corner of his mouth and then his cheekbone. Later they’d clean up, and shower, and Patrick would probably watch Mikey make an implausibly large sandwich, but laughing and kissing was a good place to start.


End file.
